Little Red Riding Hood
by wolfmyjic
Summary: The Black Bacarra is back in it's last appearance. Will Booth and Brennan get the answers that they need to piece together the mystery? Is Booth ever going to come to his senses and return to the Jeffersonian?
1. Dinner Date

**A/N: So you asked for it...a sequel to 'The Goldilocks Murders' which of course is the sequel to 'The Sinful Rose'. This is the last of the Trilogy. If all your questions aren't answered by the last chapter, then they just won't be answered. Thanks to Goldy for beta'ing this chapter.**

**Title: Little Red Riding Hood**

**Summary: The Black Bacarra is back in it's last appearance. Will Booth and Brennan get the answers that they need to piece together the mystery? Is Booth ever going to com to his senses and return to the Jeffersonian? Will Brennan realize how she feels for her partner? Find out in here...**

**Rating: Strong 'T' for now, may go up to 'M' **

**Disclaimer: According to the paperwork, I do not own 'BONES'. In fact, the paper states something about leave DB alone before the police are called, but I don't think they really mean it. Anyhow, don't own anything dealing with 'BONES' but the plotline is mine. Thus (C) WolfMyjic 2007 **

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**Doctor Temperance Brennan looked around the small office that she sat in. Dressed in jeans and a tank top, the anthropologist felt somewhat at home in the hot room that smelled a little too much like human sweat. Her cinnamon hair was pulled up in a high ponytail and her sandals showed off her red toenail polish. Brennan turned sideways in her wooden chair, one arm draped over the back, as her eyes took in the faded pictures on the walls. She took a deep breath and let it out, puffing out her cheeks and letting her shoulders slump. She was just about to go find the guy who had shown her into the office, when a slight noise from the doorway caused her to turn her head and her heart leaped at who stood there. 

Special Agent Seeley Booth of the Federal Bureau of Investigation leaned one shoulder against the door jam and Brennan let her eyes start at his booted feet and drift up. His ankles were crossed, and his blue jeans hugged his thighs and his--_don't go there_, she thought, and forced her eyes to keep moving, noticing that his Levi's were slung low on his hips. His pale blue, button shirt was tucked into his pants--showing off a large belt buckle that had an eagle on it, and his pistol was nestled in an uncharacteristic hip holster attached firmly to his belt. As Brennan's eyes went higher, she noticed how the shirt stretched tight across his broad chest and shoulders. His arms hung by his side, thumbs tucked into his jeans pockets. A small version of his charm smile tugged at his lips, and a brown cowboy hat rested on his head--shading his eyes. "Booth?"

At this, he lifted his chin, bringing his right hand up to tip back his hat so that he could look her in the eye and his smile exploded.

"Howdy, ma'am," he said, giving his best Texas draw.

"You look like…" Brennan let the sentence drop.

"Hey, when in Rome do like the Romans, and when in Texas, do like them." He pushed himself away from the jam and sauntered further into the office. "Not that it's not good to see you," he started. "But, um, why are you here?" Brennan watched as her former partner pulled a chair away from the small table, flipped it around and straddled it, his arms resting across the back.

"Can't I come see an old friend?" she questioned, turning in her seat and crossing her legs. Booth raised an eyebrow at her before bobbing his head yes.

"I guess," he answered. "But I told you before I came out here it was only for a month and a half. Then I would be back in DC."

"I know," Brennan said, bringing one hand up to tuck a nonexistent stray strand of hair behind her ear. "But, well, I was in the mood for some Tex-Mex food, and figured that since you're here…"

"Hard to believe you came all this way for dinner," Booth interrupted. Brennan cocked her head to the left, and offered a smile.

"It has been a while since I ate," she said, her eyes sparkling. "Know any good restaurants?"

"Okay, I get it, you're not going to tell me." He held up his hands in defeat. "It's your plane ticket," he said.

"You're paying for dinner, though, right?" she teased, causing him to laugh.

"Yeah, I'll pick up dinner." With that he stood, and held out his hand to her. Once she had accepted it, he pulled her to her feet and into his arms. "It's good to see you, Bones."

Brennan returned the embrace. "Good seeing you too, Booth." They pulled apart, and Booth led her from the office, his hand on the small of her back--two of his fingers touching bare skin. He noticed the glances from the other agents as they went by, and also the tattoo that was playing peek-a-boo under his hand. He made a mental note to ask her when she had gotten it.

An hour and a half later, they were seated across from each other in a small, cozy restaurant that specialized in Tex-Mex food. Their plates had been cleared and the duo sat enjoying an after dinner cocktail. "You going to let me in on why you're here?" Booth asked, after taking a swallow of his Crown and Coke. Brennan sipped her Stormy Night, savored the tart taste and then turned her attention toward the agent.

"I need you to come back to DC with me," she said bluntly, setting her drink down.

"You could have called to ask me that," he pointed out. "The answer would be no either way. You could have saved the trip."

"Angela and I thought I would have a better chance to bring you home if I came out personally."

"I'll be back in a month," Booth said. "If there's a case, call Cullen, he'll send over a temporary agent until a new one is assigned."

"I called Cullen," Brennan told him.

"And he sent you here?"

"No, I came here myself," she corrected. "I told him I refused to work with anybody else."

"Bones, you're going to have to move on. A new agent will be assigned. You'll get a new partner."

"Wrong again, Booth. The Jeffersonian will get a new liaison. However, with Zack being a full-fledged anthropologist now, he's capable of working with the FBI. I will not get a new partner, but simply be on the Medico-Legal Labs team."

"But Bones," Booth started. "You love going out in the field. You can't just give that up."

"I can and I have, Booth." She reached out for her drink and took another sip. "In fact, this case I'm working on now will be my last for awhile. I'm thinking about taking a few months off, going on the lecture circuit."

"You'll just leave the FBI high and dry like that? I mean-- you're the best."

"So are you," she threw back at him. "Anyhow, weren't you the one talking about everybody needs a change sometimes?"

"Yeah, but," he let the argument drop. Taking a deep breath, he wrapped his fingers around his drink, rubbing his thumbs absently across the condensation on the outside of the glass. "You came all this way just to get me to work a case with you?" he finally asked.

Brennan nodded. "You're my partner, Booth, no matter what you think." They stared at each other for a long moment before the agent dropped his eyes.

"Bones," he began, but did not know what to say. Instead, he picked up his glass, drained the amber liquid and then sat it down with a slight thump. "This case, what's it about?" Booth looked up though his lashes and saw a slow smile spread over Brennan's face.

"I knew you would come around," she said.

"I'll agree to look it over," Booth quickly told her. "But I'm not agreeing to go back to DC. Did you bring the file?"

"Of course," Brennan answered, her smile growing. "Back in my room." Booth hadn't seen her smile that big in months, and he couldn't help but to return it.

"So," Brennan said, breaking the silence in the SUV as Booth navigated through the crowded streets. "What do you do here?"

"Here?" Booth repeated. "I'm assuming you mean what do I do at this branch of the FBI?" Brennan nodded. "Well, I'm in branch two of the Dallas Division under ASAC Kevin Kolbye."

"ASAC?" Brennan questioned.

"Assistant Special Agent in Charge," he clarified. "Their duties involve the investigations and intelligence collection to protect the United States from acts of terrorism, espionage and other foreign intelligence activities, and cyber crimes."

Brennan looked over at him, her mouth slightly open. "Wow," she finally said. "That's a lot different from what you use to do."

"I've been telling you that I needed a change."

"What did you do in New York?"

"Counterintelligence investigations which I'm not allowed to talk about." Booth made a left turn onto Turtle Creek Boulevard, drove the short distant to the Mansion of Turtle Creek and let out a low whistle. "Damn, Bones, you spare no expense, do you?"

The anthropologist shrugged as Booth drove past the hotel, opting to park his own vehicle. "I stayed here a few years ago," she said. "Early book signing." Booth pulled to a stop, shut off the engine and they climbed out. Brennan led the way to the hotel, then through the front door, saying hello to the doorwoman. Booth followed, his head turning from side to side, his eyes taking in the massive interior and the warm colors of butterscotch, royal blue and rich terracotta. "I knew what to expect here," Brennan stopped in mid-sentence when she noticed that Booth was no longer next to her. She shook her head, walked back to him and grabbed his arm. "Come on, Booth. You can sight see later."

"Sorry," he mumbled, dropping his eyes, his cheeks flushing red at being caught staring at the million-dollar decorations. Brennan only smirked, but didn't say anything. They made their way through the lobby, and toward the elevators. After a short ride, they arrived on Brennan's floor, and Booth followed her to the correct door, watched her slide her keycard, and then pushed the door open. "Wow." Booth walked in and then stopped, spinning around, taking in the room. The room was a light shade of brown, with French doors leading out to a small terrace--floor to ceiling mirrors flanking both sides. A suede couch sat under a small window, a desk stood not far away and a king size bed sat opposite of a large cabinet. "You're making me feel lower than a cock roach," he said, flopping himself down on the couch, his hands sliding over the soft texture.

"Don't be ridiculous," Brennan commented, walking to the desk and picking up a folder. She turned around, resting her butt on the edge of the desk. "This is the case file," she said, flipping it open.

"Where was the body found?" Booth asked, propping his feet up on the metal and glass coffee table--ankles crossed.

"See, that's the thing," Brennan said. "There isn't technically a body."

"What do you mean there isn't technically a body?" Brennan snapped the folder shut and tossed it over to Booth, who caught it flat against his chest.

"Well, that's where things get interesting." Booth shot her a confused look, and then opened the folder.

"A dozen Black Bacarra's have been delivered to the Jeffersonian," he read, shooting her a worried look.

"They all come with the same note," Brennan said. "She will die."

"She who?" Booth asked.

The doctor shrugged. "We're not sure."

"There's no body," the agent said. "There doesn't seem to be a case." Booth flipped the folder to the coffee table. "Why do you need me…um, the FBI?"

"Because there will be a murder. I've also received a note taking credit for the murders of Kelly Lovelace and Kady Nichols." Booth dropped his feet to the floor and sat forward.

"Who exactly took credit?"

"Rodney James."

"Who?" Again, Brennan shrugged. She pushed herself away from the desk, and took a seat in the small chair at the end of the table.

"That's who we've been trying to figure out. We've tried to running the name, but it hasn't turned up anything. We're at a loss." Booth sat back again, one hand rubbing his chin while he thought.

"So there's no body, no case, no nothing," he said. "Bones, why did you come all this way?" Brennan stared at him for a moment, before leaning back and dropping her head.

"There _is_ a case, Booth," she told him. "You always told me to follow my gut. Well, this doesn't feel like some kind of--prank or something." She shook her head as if to dismiss a thought. "There's a reason the roses where delivered to the Jeffersonian. There's a reason somebody took time to take credit for two murders." Brennan picked up her eyes and locked stares with Booth. "We need you to come back, Booth," she said. "_I_ need you to come back."

XxXxX

Angela Montenegro stood in Brennan's office, shifting through one stack of paper and then other. "Where is it?" she mumbled under her breath, placing her hands palm down on the top of the desk. Angela screwed her mouth up to one side, her eyebrows drawn together as she thought. She gently drummed her fingers and then started on a new stack on papers, and when that turned up nothing, she began searching through her mail. "Junk, junk, scientific junk, boring magazine, hello, what's this?" Angela dropped all the mail except a medium size envelope. With a quick glance out the open door, the artist carefully opened the letter and pulled the content out. A strangled sound escaped through her lips as she read the note, "She will die." Quickly, she flipped the note over and stared at the photo on the other side. A young girl with wide brown eyes and chestnut hair looked back at her. The girl's hands and feet were bound with duck tape and a piece of silver tape stretched across her mouth. Angela dropped into Brennan's chair, her free hand going to her mouth. She shook her head and reached for her phone.

"Brennan."

"We've got another note."

Brennan looked up at Booth and then pulled the phone from her ear and put it on speaker. "Say that again," the doctor said.

"We've got another note," Angela repeated. "And this time, he sent a picture."

"What kind of picture?" Booth asked from his place on the couch.

"Is that Booth? Hey, Hunky."

"Hi, Angela. What kind of picture?"

"Oh, um, it's of a girl, maybe about eleven. She's tied up with tape."

"What did the note say?" Brennan questioned.

"She will die."

"Thanks Ange. Keep working, and I'll be back tomorrow." With that, she snapped the phone shut. "Now, do you believe me?" She looked Booth in the eye as she waited.

"Yeah," he said. "Let me call Cullen. I'll go back with you."

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_Mansion of Turtle Creek is a real place in Dallas._

_ASAC Kevin Kolbye is a real person._

_The Divisions of the FBI that I talk about within this chapter are all real._

_TBC..._


	2. The Coming Home of Booth

**A/N: Here it is, the long awaited for second chapter of 'Little Red Riding Hood'. It's not very long, but do you want long or do you want an update??**

**Thanks to Goldy for beta'ing.**

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Booth followed Brennan into the Legal-Labs late the following afternoon. Compared to Brennan's sharp outfit, Booth felt ruffled and underdressed. Returning to the Jeffersonian was the last thing he wanted to do, but he knew that as long as the Black Bacarra was being waved in front of him, he couldn't stop. Booth let out a heavy sigh as Brennan continued to talk. "Angela's been searching for missing persons who match the girl in the picture. Hodgins has been trying to pull off anything from the roses." 

"And you haven't tracked down that name?" Booth asked. "What's his name? Rodney James?"

"He doesn't seem to exist," Brennan tossed over her shoulder as she opened the door to her office. With a smooth motion, she flipped on the lights, dropped her bag and went on to her desk. "Here's the picture," she said, picking up the photo and looking at it. She then held it out to Booth, who accepted it as he dropped into a chair.

"Pretty girl," he commented, searching the wooded background.

"Do you think this Rodney James person connects with Vancuvor and Lonnie Castor in any way?"

Booth nodded. "Has too," he answered. "It's the damn Black Bacarra. Where does it fit in?" He tossed the picture onto Brennan's desk, and then folded his hands behind his head. "This whole thing just makes no sense whatsoever."

Brennan mirrored his position. "Maybe we're just not looking at it the right way."

"And how do you suggest we look at it? Standing on our heads?"

"Hey, don't get snappy at me," Brennan said. "All I'm saying is that how we're going about solving this case isn't working. Maybe we should try something new."

"Like?" Brennan screwed up her mouth in thought, and they both fell into a silence.

"Maybe this has nothing to do with you," Brennan finally said, drawing Booth's eyes to her.

"Care to explain? Since I know both Vancuvor and Castor." Booth waited, but when Brennan did not go on, he stood--stretching his arms above his head and let out a loud yawn. "Listen, it's late and we've been on a plane most of the day. How about we call it a night?"

"But we just got here," Brennan protested.

"Yeah, and my mind is like mashed potatoes. I need some sleep."

"What about the picture?"

"I don't know," he answered with a shrug. "Why don't you have Angela deconstruct it in the morning? Then maybe Hodgins can do his thing and identify some of the trees and plants. Could be that a hint to her location hidden somewhere. You know, like a plant that only grows in certain areas."

"I guess that makes sense," Brennan said, glancing down at the picture.

"Good, because I'm out of ideas right now." Booth turned from her and headed toward the door. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Good," she began, but he was already out the door.

XxXxX

"So, Booth came back with you after all," Angela inquired as she carefully scanned the picture into her computer.

"He didn't seem too happy about it," Brennan answered from across the artist's desk.

"Still, he came back." Angela pulled the image up on her computer and then placed a grid over it and labeled the different sections. "Why am I doing this again?"

"Because it's easier to study one segment at a time." Brennan stood from her chair and walked around the table to peer over Angela's shoulder. "We thought that if we spilt it up then between your eye for details and Hodgins knack for spotting species of plants, then maybe we'll get a clue as to where this picture was taken." Angela nodded her understanding.

"Well, in that case, give me a few hours to look this over and I'll send each piece to Hodgins as I finish."

"Great," Brennan said, standing up straight. "I'll go try calling Booth again and give him an update."

"What do you mean _again_?" Angela asked, stopping Brennan on her way out.

"I've been calling him all morning and he hasn't answered."

"Oh really?" Brennan shrugged and continued out of the office.

"Booth, it's Brennan, just wanted to let you know our findings." With a sigh, she hung up the phone. She knew that he was ignoring her. Not that she really blamed him. He didn't want to come back and she did sort of convince him.

"Why the long face?" Booth asked walking into the anthropologist's office.

"Booth, where have you been?" Brennan asked, a little sharper then she meant.

"I've been stuck all morning in a meeting with Cullen," the agent answered, flopping down into an empty chair. "Seems that boss man wanted a detailed update."

"Oh," Brennan replied, her cheeks shading red slightly.

"I got your messages," Booth went on. "Was Angela able to find anything?"

"Yes, Angela was," the artist in question answered from the open door.

"I knew you could," Booth said, flashing a wide smile. "Lay it on us."

Angela sauntered into the office and handed Booth and Brennan each a sheet of paper. "Check out the upper left corner." Booth pulled the paper close to his nose and then pushed it away.

"What am I looking at?" Brennan finally asked.

"Right here," Angela reached over with a slender finger and pointed out a small basket.

"Ah," the agent said. "A tisket and tasket…"

"Somebody lost their pretty basket," Angela finished. "I'm afraid that's all I've got. Hodgins is looking over the picture as we speak."

"Thanks, Angela," Brennan said, earning her a smile. The artist then patted Booth on the back, mumbled something to him and then left the office.

"So we have a kidnapped girl and a lost basket," Booth pondered aloud. "Doesn't give us much to go on, does it?"

Brennan dropped her copy of the picture to her desk and then sat back in her chair. "Could be a clue," she said.

"Yeah, or it could be two love sick teenagers making out behind the bushes. Truth is, we're still no closer."

"Then maybe this will help," Hodgins suggested stepping into the office. "The main trees in the background are _Alnus rubra_ or Red Alder."

"And this helps us why?" Booth asked, looking over his shoulder.

"It helps because the Red Alder only grows in the western North America, from southeast Alaska south to central coastal California. They also grow close to the ocean line or lakes. They're known as the King of the Water in Wicca."

"Great," Booth said with a roll of his eyes. "Just what we need, witches."

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_Now if you've read the first 2...you knew something like witches was coming._

_More to come soon (i hope)..._


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